Hearing the cheers and the joyful music, seeing the relieved smiles on everyone’s faces, Gwaine is glad for Merlin, happy that for once, things might be better than they were before. Still, as he watches the crowning of the new queen, he cannot help but brace for whatever misfortune will befall the newly married couple, knowing that Merlin will inevitably dive into the fray.
Placing a crown upon one’s head in this kingdom is an invitation for misery. Or perhaps misery lies in taking on the Pendragon name.
First Ygraine, then Morgana...
He may hate the witch for what she made him do, but he pities her, too. She became so ensnared in thoughts of revenge for ancient offenses that she could no longer see that those she turned her back on still cared, still wished to share their love. Now she is utterly alone, nursing her hatred as one would the dregs of a cup of tea in the dead of winter.
Perhaps Gwen’s peasant blood will help to break the gilded cycle that dooms the Pendragon women, will insulate her from the forces which constantly threaten those Camelot’s kings hold dear. Gwaine refuses to hold his breath, knowing from bitter experience not to trust in hope.
If he is to be the only one standing with Merlin whilst the world falls apart, then he will do it gladly.
After all, he likes it better that way.